Page 15 of Give Me Redemption

“Why does anyone mess up? Shit happens.” I laugh.

He shakes his head. “You know you’ve always been the jokester in this family, but I’m no fool, Jace. I see you. I’ve always seen you. You hide behind that funny. But you’re sad. You’ve always been a little sad.”

I look at him for a moment, my smile fading. We don’t say anything for a long while. We just stare. I know he’s not a fool—that’s the last thing I’d ever call Pops. But I had no idea he saw me. I always thought Bryce was the one.

“You never needed anybody,” he says to me. “Not anyone, and you proved that when you went away. I was so angry at you for doing it behind my back, but part of me understood. You two needed to become your own people, and you did.” He slides his hands into his pockets as a horse moves around toward the back of the barn. The wind picks up a few pieces of stray hay and I inhale my cigarette. I flick the ashes and scratch the side of my cheek.

“I did need someone, though,” I say. “I needed my brother.”

“You can’t blame the boy for going his own way, Jace. Bryce is a very complicated man. He’s got a lot of shit inside of him that he struggles with. What your parents put on him… It wasn’t fair. A kid shouldn’t have to raise another.”

“What about what they put on me?” I ask him. “I was the one they never touched, the one that was invisible.” I run a hand over my head.

He shakes his. “I’m sorry you went through that, son. I hate that both of you had a crappy start. I hope that we made up for that at least a little. We tried.”

I wave him off. “You’re the only reason why we made it out, Pops. The shit that’s wrong with us has nothing to do with you.” I look back at the tractor, focusing on it, as I smoke my cigarette. Moments pass between us. My parents were something else. I guess I’ve always felt abandoned.

My dad died, then my mom gave us up, and then Bryce went off and did his own thing, and then my brothers in the Army… I just don’t understand, that’s all.

“You know why I think you did what you did?” he asks me.

My eyes jump back to him.

“Because something bad happened to you out there and the only way for you to get out was to do something reckless, something stupid? I think you got caught on purpose.”

My lungs freeze; my heart hammers.

“You’re too good at hiding things,” he says. “You wouldn’t have gotten caught.”

I rub my nose and look back at the tractor. “Yeah, well, this time, I just got caught.” I put my smoke between my lips and reach over to turn the gas cap. Bending down, I sniff.

“Somebody put gas in your diesel tractor. You’ll need to drain it and flush out the fuel system. That should work. I’m going to go for a ride.”

He nods. “Love you, boy.”

“I feel the same, Pops. Be back in a little while,” I say, walking out of the barn. I head up to the shop where Bryce and my dirt bikes are. I strip off my shirt and jeans before sliding my riding gear on. Slipping my helmet over my head, I jump onto the bike and kick-start it. It doesn’t start, so I kick it again and it roars to life, filling the shop with fumes that take me back to when I was just a boy.

I remember when Pops first bought us dirt bikes and how fucking excited Bryce was. He never got excited about much, but pure joy showed on his face that Christmas.

We didn’t get gifts when we lived with our parents. Hell, we hardly got the necessities, so a gift was out of the question. Well, there was a time or two that Bryce would come home with a new toy for me in his pocket.

How he got them I didn’t know at the time. We didn’t have money. Of course, I know now. He stole them.

He did that to make me happy, but it’s shitty that he had to.

I put the bike in gear and hit the throttle, flying out of the shop and out into the open fields.

Chapter Eight

Harlow

“It starts out with me being paralyzed. I can only move my eyes. It’s like a heavy layer of cement covers me. I hear muffled sounds and feel the cold coming in through the open window. The streetlamp burns tangerine in the room, the trees sway from the breeze casting shadows across his back. He tosses her out first before he goes after. I scream on the inside, being my body to jump up and go after them, but it’s futile. Nothing happens until I wake up covered in sweat, my throat raw because I wasn’t only screaming in my nightmare.”

Cathy, my therapist, looks up from her notepad. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and rest my hand back on the arm of the chair.

“So, in your dream you see him take her,” she says.

“Yes.”

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